TCOT Missed Chance
by DNPLC
Summary: What if Della STreet and Perry Mason were only friends until she was arrested for murder? I don't believe it, btw-it's pretty clear they had a decades-long relationship. But there are those who believe. So here's another take on that 8 yr separation we all seem to hate. SPICE ALERT. Last 2 chapters. :)
1. Chapter 1

What if Perry and Della really hadn't been together for decades, finding each other only after she was arrested? I don't believe that that's true-there is far too much of a trail from the books, to the TV show, to the movies to Ray and Barbie's interviews that _proves_ otherwise. But the idea is out there. I wrote this but never posted it because the very idea just feels so, so, wrong. But comments on Evil Eight have prompted me to dust this off and post.

If you don't like sizzle you REALLY need to skip a couple of chapters. I take great pride in D&P's active sex life as I'm sure they did! (Thanks "startwriting!") And Della had some sass; as it said in one of the PM movies (though they've been so edited now when you see them I can't figure out which one it was) "Della how many times have we done this?" "Every time's like the first time for me."

So…what if?

_**1977, Los Angeles**_

Silently and just out of her sight, Perry Mason stood in the doorway watching Della Street finish packing up 28 years-worth of their lives. Since Perry wasn't expected back until much later Della, believed she was alone with her thoughts and seemed consumed by them.

The weeks leading up to this night had been highly charged and insanely busy, with most of the work falling on Della's slim shoulders. Perry had always tried to look out for her but his mind was elsewhere seemingly wholly unaware of the toll this enormous change was taking on her emotionally and physically.

In fact, he was so remote it had left her a bit dazed. But on this difficult night, stalwart as she was, the sole concession she had made to fatigue and heart-break was kicking off the spectacularly high heels she had insisted on wearing every day since 1949.

Perry watched Della as he had for 28 years; from a far. Now 55 she was more beautiful than ever, breathtaking even, from the gentle eyes incapable of hiding her emotions, to her sweet, dazzling smile and, especially, the luminous glow that radiated from her, which was uniquely Della Street. Recently she had cut off the long hair she had grown and had been blowing straight for a few years. The change was quite stunning but, in truth, he had missed his beloved and quite adorable curls and was thrilled upon their return.

Over the years elegance had fairly evaporated from their little corner of the world. An ill wind had blown across the country and Los Angeles was drowning beneath an ultra violet sea of unfortunate, unnatural materials like polyester, colors not found in nature including something called day-glo, fringe and patterns that left you thinking you might somehow have unwittingly ingested LSD.

Ever chic Della's style had, of course, modernized but had not fallen prey to the trendiness that now infantilized fashion. Her hems had gotten much shorter with everyone else's, thankfully since covering those gams was a crime in itself, but her suits, skirts and dresses still had clean, classic lines and she had yet to succumb to slacks in the office. Cashmere sweaters and twin sets were still her mainstay and she sent for them from the same Madison Avenue boutique she used for decades. And _none_ of her shoes had a layer of cork on the bottom.

Unlike anyone else he had ever met— feisty, sexy, playful, funny, brave and brilliant—she set new standards for efficiency and was the kindest, most centered person he had ever known. Perry had loved watching her mature and had loved growing older with her. Now after almost 30 years, at a most important time in their lives, he was going to leave for a job he never really wanted and the sad fact was he couldn't even say exactly why he was doing it.

In some respects Perry felt that this move had the desperation of a midlife crisis, despite the fact that at 60 he was on the far end of mid-life. There were mortal undertones, motivated by the deaths of their friends; and some family duty in the fulfillment of a long-dead grandfather's wish. Perry's great fear, however, was that it was something much more sinister than he, himself, would not see for years.

What bothered him most was that he had come to realize he had erred on the wrong side. That it was not his work life that needed changing it was the fact that, at the age of 60, he realized that he needed a personal life and now he was doing the one thing that virtually assured he wouldn't have it; not the one he craved anyway.

Instead of running away to another city, he should have confronted Della. He should have told her he loved her, only her, and wanted to be with her. If she chose Rich Richardson over him then so be it but at least he would have been honest and they would finally have dealt with their feelings. But Perry nurtured hurt instead, which helped prompt a rash life-altering (_lives_ altering) decision.

When he learned that what he had heard about Richardson and Della getting married—from Richardson himself—had been an outrageous exaggeration, it was too late. The announcement had been made to the press and there was no graceful way out. Now he had closed a thriving practice, putting 25 people out of work and traumatized the one person in his life who should have been cossetted at this time in her life. Over, at least in part, gossip.

Despite a steady stream of tears, Della moved efficiently around the room packing up their lives to send his in one direction and hers in another. That was as he wanted it and it was quite a final statement to make after all of these years.

Lovingly she placed the last items from his desk in the final carton marked Justice Perry Mason, c/o First Appellate Court of the 9th District, 350 McAllister Street, San Francisco, CA 94102. Della had had a friend of theirs who did their audio forensics help her make Perry a tape of their favorite songs to take with him. Over nearly three decades they had spent thousands of hours on the dance floor together, one of their few opportunities at intimacy. Della loaded it into the latest thing in music, an audio cassette player that she had bought him, and pushed play.

Moments later Nat King Cole's smooth voice wafted from the machine:

_There will be many other nights like this,  
And I'll be standing here with someone new,  
There will be other songs to sing, another fall, another spring,  
But there will never be another you.  
There will be other lips that I may kiss,  
But they won't thrill me like yours used to do,  
Yes, I may dream a million dreams,  
But how can they come true,  
If there will never ever be another you._

Falling into Perry's leather desk chair, Della dropped her head and began to sob. Perry, now in tears himself, knew that walking in at this moment wasn't going to help either one of them. They had nearly 30 years to express their feelings but somehow never managed to break the barrier beyond a few stolen kisses and caresses, endless nights of her in his arms dancing and a single missed chance that could have changed the course of their lives.

Perry Mason had sex with other women; he had absolutely everything else worth having with Della Street.

Now he was leaving, tearing apart their intricately entwined lives and it was more painful than any divorce could have been because it was not Della that he wanted to leave behind. They were each other's closest confidante and he knew they would see one another often. But Perry couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing any chance he had at real happiness. Turning, his eyes lingered sadly on the caring, sultry, exceptional woman responsible for every good moment of his adult life then walked out the door.

From beneath her lashes, Della Street witnessed this final act of mercy with enormous relief and withdrew a card and square box from her handbag. While it was a bit of a cliché, Della had been searching for the perfect pocket watch for Perry for years; ever since he told her the story of his grandfather's watch one evening in the office, late at night when they often opened up to one another.

"_Things" _had never interested Perry unless he was the one giving the gift but when he was a boy he coveted his granddad's antique watch; mostly because it belonged to a man he adulated. But the Judge—whose fondest wish was for his grandson to follow in his footsteps—had fallen into ill health and then inevitably onto hard times. In 1933, when Perry was just 16, the old gentleman died and the white gold pocket watch with its sapphire fob, had to be sold to pay his debts and burial.

Just days after Perry devastated Della by announcing his intention to close the practice and accept the Governor's appointment to the appellate court Della got a call from their contact in Cartier's estate jewelry department. After a decade he had finally found a watch with the characteristics she had described. Parisian art deco, from the early 1900s, the watch in platinum, ringed by 12 carats of French cut Kashmir sapphires was so extravagant it was almost unseemly. But it was perfect. And Della no longer cared about what was or wasn't seemly.

That either of them ever cared at all was at the root of their problems.

When she first bought the watch she couldn't wait to see his face as he opened the box. After the announcement, however, Della thought perhaps their separation would be as horrifying to him as it was to her and he would finally make some sort of move to claim her. As each day passed that seemed more unlikely and the pain became almost unbearable.

Della realized that her tender heart could never survive actually saying "goodbye" to the only man she had ever loved. Instead, she decided on a note and as long as it had to be that way, she intended to finally say the one thing she had needed to say all along.

_Perry,_

_I can't say 'goodbye' to you. I'm sorry to disappoint but as further proof that I'm not the woman either of us thought I was, I leave you with the following thought._

_ I love you; I always have and I always will. My only regret is that I didn't tell you many years ago. Perhaps things could have been different for us. I'm tremendously proud of you, as ever, and know in my heart what an incredible judge you will be. _

_Think of me,_

_Della_

Della couldn't tell how long she had been sitting there; through one side of the tape and two short bourbons anyway. If she wasn't careful Perry would come back and the scene she had tried so to avoid would be played out. Maybe in some small way, it occurred to her, she was hoping for that very thing.

Re-winding the tape Della popped it out of the machine, put it back in its case marked "Memories" placing them both on the top of Perry's blotter before sealing the carton with several layers of packing tape. Tenderly, she set the watch and card on top of the box.

When she slipped into her trench coat and picked up her briefcase and handbag she took a final look around the office where she had spent most of her adult life, the sadness that registered in her eyes was untold. Scanning the room countless memories flooded back and the reality of her loss hit her so hard she thought it might knock her down. Wrapping her arms around her waist she leaned against the door, her slender body racked with sobs.

Perry, who incorrectly anticipated that Della would be gone by the time he returned, now watched from behind the door of their law library; the first place he had ever kissed her. Causing Della, who had never done anything but care for him, his work and reputation so selflessly, this kind of pain made him feel like a monster.

Still he kept telling himself he could only make it worse by confronting her now. As much as he wanted to rush in and wrap her in his arms—and as much as he wanted her on that flight to San Francisco with him—he felt that trying to start a real relationship with her finally after all of these years, a long distance relationship, was far more cruel than just letting her go.

What he didn't anticipate was the profound desolation that would settle over him as Della Street finally closed the door behind her; a despair so oppressive it threatened to smother him with its weight and girth. For the first time since 1949, _for the very first time_, Perry Mason felt alone.

On his desk Della had left two glasses next to the bottle of Maker's Mark. One of the glasses bore traces of her lipstick and a tiny pool of bourbon at the bottom. The other glass was for him, for the rest of the toast. Rolling her glass back and forth in his hand he swiped his finger over her lipstick, considering its softness and the color it left on his finger.

Sitting under the only light left in his bare office, Perry Mason knew he was going to get good and drunk and was well into his third bourbon before he had the courage to open the gift. Platinum gleaming in his hand, sapphires ablaze under the light, Perry was in awe, not just of its astonishing beauty but what he knew the watch meant.

Late into the night Perry Mason sat at that desk, the note on her engraved DKS stationery in front of him, in his hand the gleaming watch, which he occasionally brought to his lips. Over and again the same thought coursed through his besieged mind.

"Sweet girl… what are we going to do without each other?"


	2. Chapter 2

_**1985, San Francisco, CA**_

Perry walked briskly down the ornate hall that led to his office, robe spread behind him as if in flight. Although he had grown even larger over the last few years, outweighing his poor law clerk by at least 150 pounds, the kid could barely keep up. That's how badly he wanted to get away. For the last three hours he had been held captive in a fusty conference room with three other judges who blathered on about a case none of them understood; or perhaps they just preferred to hear their own voices. He never could be sure.

Once in his office he happily shut the door on the rest of the world. Yanking off the robe he threw it as far away from him as he could, as if it were contaminated. Opening his beautiful watch, he had calculated that he had 45 minutes to relax before his noon appointment.

Della's gift, which he had never mentioned to her, not only told him the time but also served as something of a pacifier when he was anxious. Habitually he would turn it over and over in his hand and it made him feel, even on his worst days, as if she were at his elbow again.

Recently, when engaged in polishing the watch, Perry was surprised to discover a panel inside the front cover. On one side there was a frame where Della, a talented artist, had placed an exquisite, tiny sketch she made of his grandfather from the only photo Perry had of him that sat in his office.

On the other side he found the following, "'Time discovers truth.'—Seneca, All My Love, Della." Often he found himself transfixed by the inscription.

Sliding the tape she made him into the radio—_he_ called it a radio—he sat heavily on the window seat. Where the Hell was Della? She had rescued him 100s of times over the years; it was part of her damn job. Didn't she know he needed her to do that very thing right now?

Perry was scowling and restlessly stroking his beard as he looked down on San Francisco from his window, Ella Fitzgerald singing in the background:

_No tears  
No fears  
Remember there's always tomorrow  
So what if we have to part  
We'll be together again_

Your kiss  
Your smile  
Are memories I'll treasure forever  
So try thinking with your heart  
We'll be together again

Times when I know you'll be lonesome  
Times when I know you'll be sad  
Don't let temptation surround you  
Don't let the blues make you bad

Some day  
Some way  
We both have a lifetime before us  
For parting is not goodbye  
We'll be together again.

After listening to the tape the first time, Perry had noticed a recurring theme of lost love in the music. He was sure—_almost _sure—that this had been unintended on her part and it charmed him in a bittersweet way. But today this music made him even lonelier for her than he had been.

They had been getting together as "friends" most every month either here or in LA. Della had been reticent at first but once Perry set the tone with regular phone calls she became more comfortable and they fell right back into their old rhythm. On July 4th she even brought the kid with her; Paul Drake, Jr., their Godson whom she loved as if he were her own son even if his Godfather had issues with his stability.

More than ever it seemed the two of them relied on one another for advice, support and company. Della regaled him with her triumphs in the business world where she had very much become her own woman. She often asked for advice about how to handle a "difficult customer," as she called some of their clients or Gordon himself. Perry suspected she might be playing to his vanity; he let her.

In turn Perry could work through his cases with someone more interested in asking the right questions and getting to the truth than pontificating. He would have put her brain up against any one of the bloated, old toads he sat with and she would have come out the winner every time.

Della had arranged his move, decorated his new apartment and put his new office in order. Since he shared a secretary with four other justices and his law clerk was a 21 year-old genius-dunce, she frequently offered to help him out of a jam, doing research from her office with its latest computer equipment.

When they visited they stayed in each other's homes, and for the first few years tried to outdo one another with multiple course, gourmet dinners, plying one another with expensive flights of wine and champagne. In later years, older and with work pressure mounting, they cooked a quiet dinner together with Della trying her best to keep it on the healthier side, to Perry's disdain.

One Friday night when Della was visiting a woman Perry was clearly seeing called his apartment during dinner. Della graciously excused herself to the terrace to accord him privacy. When Perry hung up the phone all he could do was remember how he felt during the Richardson conversation and his heart ached for her.

"You might not believe me," he said coming up behind her on the terrace, his deep, warm voice caressing her. "But there was _no…_ reason for you to absent yourself."

Della gave a slight smile and turned her head over her shoulder without looking at him, hoping to hide her damp eyes. Guiding her back inside by the elbow, he held her shoulder a moment after seating her back in her chair. Della reached up and patted the his hand to let him know she was fine.

Perry never let it happen again. What he really longed to do was to tell Della that the woman meant nothing to him; that she was a colleague who was a convenience more than anything else. But it had been his experience that women were never placated by the phrase, "she meant nothing to me," in fact, it was quite likely to cost you a body part of which you were rather fond.

The second night, regardless of the city, Perry always took Della out to dinner and then took her dancing. There were very few places left where they could find a big band but they managed. Perry loved the domesticity of being in the kitchen together, teasing each other, tasting something off one another's finger then sitting on the couch and visiting or reading while they listened to music and finished the wine or enjoyed a cognac.

But going out held a special advantage; for a few precious hours he could hold her in his arms even if it was just on the dance floor. His knee could have exploded and he wouldn't have given that up.

They still hadn't discussed their relationship or any other relationships. Had she had many? She had had at least a few he knew of, and the thought of her in bed with another man literally made him nauseous. Were they the same as his relationships? Were they empty attempts to fill a space occupied by a person who was wholly irreplaceable?

Perry looked out over the gray skyline, the clock ticking until his meeting. Couldn't Della see how much he hated this job, these tiresome people and this constantly chilly city? On the other hand, what did he expect the girl to do, reasonably?

The private line rang interrupting increasingly dark thoughts. "Mason."

"Perry…"

"I was just thinking about you—wondering where the Hell you were actually." Perry could not contain his anger.

"I need you..," was she crying?

"Della, what's wrong? Where are you?"

"Perry, I've been arrested…. Arthur Gordon has been murdered." There was a long silence. "Perry?"

The normally agile mind of Perry Mason was having trouble processing the concept of Della Street arrested for murder. "I'm sorry did you just say that you had been arrested?"

"Yes, Perry. I've been arrested for Arthur's murder."

"Your boss? They have accused you of murdering your boss?"

Perry Mason was not processing. Only Della Street knew this mental glitch, as she called it, but there were times when Mason's brain reeled overworking itself and ended up, for lack of a more accurate term, short circuiting. On the rare occasions it happened—usually late at night during a difficult trial when the truth was close but just beyond his grasp, or when he was turning too many pieces of the puzzle in the hopper—Perry shut down. Only his secretary could bring him out of it.

"Oh, Perry…" she begged now even more terrified. "You're doing that thing you do but you have to snap out of it, you have to listen to me. I'm in trouble."

"Della... I don't understand…"

Then, for the first time in 36 years, Perry Mason heard the raised voice of Miss Della Street, "PERRY MASON LISTEN TO ME GODDAMMIT! I AM IN JAIL!"

Della dissolved in tears on the other end of the line. Hearing the panicked sobs of the great love his life, brought him around in a way nothing else could.

"Della, tell me what happened." But she couldn't stop.

Perry gave her a minute and then tried again. And again.

"Della," he spoke tersely now but the crying wouldn't abate.

"Della, stop!" Perry was leaning on his desk now trying to get through to her the way she had tried to get through to him a few minutes before but it was useless.

Then using a tone she had heard only once before—soft, slightly erotic and undeniably intimate—and a word he had been longing to say to her for decades, Perry soothed her instantly.

"_Baby_ … _baby_ … please you need to calm down now so I can help you."

Della's crying slowed, "I've been charged with first degree murder, Perry."

Torn between terror and elation, Perry paused for less than a moment then assured his new client, "Okay, sweetheart. I'll get you the best man I know."

Picking up the phone again he barked at his long suffering secretary, "Mrs. Chambers, charter me a plane to LAX. Then type up my resignation and send it to…well… whomever gets those things. Then get some packing boxes, pack up my office and arrange to have everything sent to me in Los Angeles…send it all to Miss Street's address. Oh and good bye, Mrs. Chambers…good luck to you…"

Grabbing his garment bag from the closet—Della always kept 3 suits, 5 dress shirts, 3 ties, 5 pair of socks and boxers, extra shaving gear and a new toothbrush in a garment bag at the office, an inspired system when he was an attorney that he continued in San Francisco for no real reason other than it reminded him of her—Perry Mason was on his way to the airport at top speed. If he really moved he could be at her side in 90 minutes and that's just exactly what he planned to do.

Down in Los Angeles a terrified Della Street sat in a jail cell, dumbfounded. She had clearly been set up but by whom and, more importantly, why? And then there was Perry on the phone; those words were words that she had been longing to hear for decades. Where did they come from and was it just the severity of the situation that brought them about or was it something else?

Shaking, eyes trained on her lap, all she could do was pray that Perry was getting the best man he knew. If he _really_ was; everything would be fine, just fine. Maybe things would be even better than fine…finally.


	3. Chapter 3

_**One Week Later, Los Angeles County Courthouse**_

Perry Mason escorted Della Street through a throng of reporters, as he had for nearly 40 years. Only instead of holding his trusty secretary by the elbow, as was their tradition, he held his girl around the waist tight against him. When they stood in front of the Judge his arm shielded her shoulders then he made sure she got down into her seat safely—a service not to be underestimated as on her first day in court as a murder defendant, Della had to admit her body was weak.

At this point, Perry didn't much care what anyone had to say about it, which was good because, as always, when it came to Della Street and Perry Mason everyone always seemed to have something to say.

Ever since Arthur Gordon's murder the media was thick with the worst kind of gossip and prurient lies of astounding variety, all about the legend of Miss Street. Each day another round filled the pages, otherwise innocent events made lurid by innuendo. There were recent photos featuring Della in evening clothes next to Arthur at business events; and both vintage and more recent photos of Della and Perry attending events. When Perry scanned the photos he was a bit stunned at the way they did look like a couple, as far back as 1950 the feelings they hid from each other were absolutely visible to the rest of Los Angeles.

Camped out in front of her home, flashing cameras and ramming microphones at her as she entered and left the courthouse each day, Della Street was enduring a level of scrutiny unlike any she had known before. By the time they were done with her the refined Miss Della Street, a lady in every way, was being bandied about as a harlot and a murderer. Della Street. It was unimaginable for Perry, Paul, Jr. and indeed everyone who knew her personally.

Della Street who when gardening in her back yard which was filled with flower beds, umbrella, lilac and weeping willow trees and surround by the white picket fence covered with wisteria, looked for all the world like a grown up Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, with her dark curls under a straw hat and her freckles kissed by the sun.

They even managed to dredge up a few old boyfriends willing to talk, mostly so they could do damage control in their own lives. In the penultimate example of irony, Rich Richardson, Esq., with a client list made up of the California business communities' most influential crooks masquerading as businessmen, worried that his four dates with the nefarious Miss Street might jeopardize his stable of delicate flowers.

After threatening Perry so many years ago, Richardson gallantly offered that he and Miss Street were merely friends as she had, as everyone was well aware, been the lover of imminent defense attorney Perry Mason at the time.

"Well, it could have been worse, you could have married him," said Perry looking at the paper over her shoulder.

"Marry him?" Della was aghast at first then her sense of humor got the better of her. "I had four dates with the man over two months-only because he tricked me into the last two. He asked me to marry him on the third date. I had almost decided to fake my own death to get away from him! I stayed single all of these years to marry _that_? Perry, you're not that male, are you?"

Perry was ashen when she looked at him. "What is it? Are you alright?"

"He ambushed me at the Ivy one morning after an L.A. Legal Counsel breakfast," Perry struggled to get the rest of what he had to tell her out. "He said that you accepted his proposal but that you didn't want to talk to me about it because you didn't want to 'hurt' me. He said that I needed to let you go for your happiness. He even jokingly suggested I fire you, only he wasn't joking."

"Why would you believe a man like that—especially when it came to me? I thought that you knew me better than anyone in the world. For Heaven's sake I only dated because you dated."

An awful look came over her face, her voice incredulous. "Oh, Perry, no, no, no! Please don't tell me this had anything to do with…"

But the look on his face confirmed her worst suspicions. "It wasn't all about that, there was much more. But I admit that, originally, I had planned to ask you to…come with me."

Perry reached for Della but she pushed him away.

"I need to go for a walk."

"This is Los Angeles, no one walks."

"Then I need to go for a cigarette."

"You quit."

"Then I need to get away from _you_." Perry's surprise registered on his face.

When she came back in, an hour later perfumed by cigarette smoke, Della calmly walked over to where Perry was sitting staring off into space.

"Is Jr. here?" she asked.

Perry just shook his head. Della closed her eyes and breathed out, a long sigh. Stroking one cheek with her hand she leaned down and kissed his other cheek. This time when he turned his face for her to "even out the kisses," she did. Taking her fingers they curled around his hand and he kissed them.

"Star crossed," Della said going to hang up her jacket.

"This wouldn't be happening to you right now if it weren't for me."

"That's absurd, Counselor. But you can pay your own bill," Della winked at him and sat down at her typewriter.

Hungry for a story they seized upon some salacious whoppers about Della and Perry offered by people neither Della nor Perry had never met. The irony of the former secretary of America's finest and most famous defense attorney—and many speculated incorrectly his lover—being arrested for murder was just too good to resist.

On the very first day of the pre-trial, after running the press gauntlet, Della sat next to Perry in his rental rag top, "harrumphing;" a sound usually associated with Perry Mason not chic Della Street.

"Out with it my girl," Perry put a hand on her knee.

"Well, 30 years at your elbow, right?" Perry nodded. "Thirty years unraveling mysteries at your side, of watching and analyzing murder…and I wouldn't know how to do this and not get caught?"

Perry's eyebrows shot up.

"Or at least be a lot less clumsy about it. Think about it, Perry. This is someone who wanted to get caught, or more accurately wanted 'me' to get caught."

Perry nodded slowly, and as he approached the stoplight, turned towards her, "You're saying this isn't someone looking to use you as a convenient cover rather someone who wanted you out of the picture; _you and Arthur_ out of the picture. Why?"

With the press' help, Della made the first break in her own case, but it was a rare helpful moment; overall they made Della's life a living Hell.

Perry Mason stepping down from the bench for Della was provocative; the talk of the town, just as the District Attorney had tried gently to suggest to him when he went to arrange for Della's bail. Perry's "enormous career sacrifice," _his_ loyalty to _her_, was happily devoured by the press and readers further making him a hero.

"Depriving California of a justice of impeccable integrity," as one columnist wrote, did not do much for Della's image. But there she would sit, each day in her old space at his side taking notes because, as she said, "That's part of my job, isn't it?"

To round it all out was Gordon's vicious family. Once the will was read, inspired by the half million dollars that Gordon left his executive assistant and fueled by Paula Gordon's ire, they threw Della to the wolves. Paula, now the primary shareholder of Gordon industries, made sure their media machine worked overtime spewing copious insinuations and assertions that Della's relationship with Gordon was much more than boss-assistant. And did those insinuations stick!

By the second day of the preliminary trial, Perry Mason's faithful legal secretary, a woman with more integrity than any person he had ever known, had been pilloried.

The evening Perry returned to Paul, Jr.'s office after interviewing a witness to find Della standing over a newspaper stretched across Paul's desk, tears shimmering in her eyes. There in a double-page spread were pictures of Della and Perry over the years.

"I'm sorry, Della. They'll get tired of it soon." Perry put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her back against him. But he wasn't sure he believed that; not until they managed to take all of the 'fun' out of it for them.

"Ohhhh…that's not it," she said her voice deep and wounded, rubbing her cheek against one of his hands.

Keeping her eyes down she tipped her head to indicate two photos of them, from more than 25 years ago. One showed them dancing right next to each other but with other partners with whom they had attended the Annual New Year's Crystal Ball to benefit Los Angeles' elderly community. In the photo next to it, there they were again later that same night, stunningly attired and wrapped in one another's arms on a deserted outer terrace.

Perry knew instantly what she was thinking.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Los Angeles, The Crystal Ball, December 31**__**st**__**, 1961**_

"Are you ready young lady?" Perry called into his bathroom.

"Almost; finishing touches," Della sighed. "Just not as quick as they used to be."

Della laughed heartily but with a the sarcasm that had been creeping into her speech for the last few years. Of course, as with everything about Della, it had a sweetness about it. For Della it's what passed as worldly, thought Perry.

"Take your time, it's always worth it," said Perry appreciatively.

Hard to imagine how women worked the magic they did every single day of their lives. Men put on a suit and they were done. Sure they had to shave, keep their hair groomed but over the years he had witnessed enough of Della's transformations, and been inadvertently privy to enough female inner secrets, to know that what they performed was an esthetic, logistic and financial miracle.

Paul always wondered why Perry seemed to attend every benefit in Los Angeles. Although he was a generous, altruistic man, he also loved these nights because he and Della had such fun together. They would get ready in his office, padding around in stockings and socks and teasing one another. Perry marveled as Della laid out an extensive array of accoutrements and the way she could reach into her well-stocked train case and pull out exactly what she needed without even looking.

Perry loved doing her zippers, although she wouldn't let him in tonight, and Della was an expert with a bow tie. Once they were ready Perry would open a bottle of champagne, which they would relax and sip while they waited for the car.

Watching Della grow older was a privilege, as she glided through the years with increasing luster and loveliness. About to enter her 40s, which Perry felt was the best time for most women, he was anticipating what those years were going to bring. Although, it was hard to imagine her any more lovely than she was right now.

In his 40s he was holding up fairly well. Every time they were getting ready for a function and he would appear in one of his many tuxedos, however, Della would tell him admiringly that he was growing more handsome every year. Perry was sensitive to his weight, a problem since childhood, which was currently down due to a recent health scare. But it had been becoming more and more of an issue, which he mentioned with frequency to Della who said her only concern was for his health.

Perry sighed as he ran his eyes along the Los Angeles horizon; such a beautiful night that he set up their champagne on the terrace. Once at the Ball, because of the very great favor they were doing, their night would not really be their own. Considering how much Della had been looking forward to this night, Perry thought she was being even more of a sport than usual—which was saying a lot—giving up their night to help out very dear friends of his.

Perry's law school chum, Gary Patterson and his fiancée, Beverly, were in a heart-breaking spot. Despite Perry's warnings about the family, who Perry knew about through business associates, Gary went ahead married the extremely wealthy daughter of the director of his law firm. From the moment he met her he was simply smitten and from the moment she got him down that aisle, Trisha Faulkner was an unfaithful shrew who had only a passing familiarity with truth.

Their nearly two decades together were a nightmare for Gary, one of the most decent guys Perry had ever known. Several times he and Della had tried going out with them to support Gary, whom Della also adored. But it always ended the same way: badly. Trisha would get Perry alone and make advances, which he would spurn. Then she would spend the rest of her night targeting Della, who she felt was responsible for Perry's coldness, with vicious insults.

With the help of Perry and Paul Drake, Gary finally extricated himself from the marriage by threatening to expose her affairs and the fact that their two-year old twins turned out not to be his, much to his heart break. Trisha was set to marry another poor, unsuspecting slob and all that Gary had to do was keep a low profile until that was done. Then he could marry Beverly, the woman of his dreams whom he had met at his new law firm.

Perry didn't understand why the subterfuge was necessary at first. Then Gary, who had done everything he could to keep the information away from his earnest, scrupulous friend, admitted that he had been involved in some "legal" work with Faulkner's firm that was anything but legal. Of course it had been unwitting. In fact, Gary's involvement was actually far less than it now looked thanks for Faulkner's underhanded manipulation of the situation.

Still, while he could make Trish look like the tramp she was, Mr. Faulkner could put his former son-in-law in jail. The deal was no remarriage for two years so as not to embarrass his daughter and he had to acknowledge the twins as his own. But Gary wasn't sure that even that would keep him safe and the "no marriage for two years" became a hardship when Beverly became pregnant.

The Faulkners, on the board of the Crystal ball, always attended. Unfortunately Gary and Beverly, also had to attend because their boss, at the law firm where they both worked, was one of the other two honorees. They simply had no choice.

Gary asked Perry if he and Della could sacrifice a night for them with Della going as his date and Gary as Della's. Ever game, especially if it was to help out anyone in trouble—it had taken Perry five years to get her to stop bringing strays back to the office, cats, dogs, children, old people, homeless and one amnesiac—Della spoke up first and said, of course.

Perry was a bit more reserved but only because it concerned Della. He would have done anything for Gary and Beverly himself, but if anything went wrong and Della was caught in the middle he would be very unhappy. But Gary and Della entreated Perry to set aside his worries and he finally agreed. They arranged that he and Beverly would pick them up in the limousine at Perry's office at 7PM.

Perry was unsettled by the whole thing, though, as he was any time he dealt with cruel people like the Faulkners.

Billie Holliday, playing on the stereo, was getting him in the mood the plans Perry had for later that night. After a decade of skirting the topic, dates with people for whom they didn't care, endless flirting, and fiercely looking after one another, Perry planned to talk to Della about the fact that they had been in love with one another for a dozen years and were wasting their lives.

Perry had always figured Della would be the one who finally forced the issue but it hadn't happened that way. A stubborn girl she was deeply sensitive about the perception of secretaries as husband hunting, man hungry Circes. Della Street wanted no part of that and he couldn't really blame her. She also didn't ever want to hire her own replacement for the office. This was going to have to be handled delicately and with aplomb, or it was never going to work.

Slightly embarrassed, Perry realized in his nervousness that he had been swaying to the music when he felt a gloved hand hook gently onto his forearm and heard a shy gentle giggle, like that of a young girl. When he turned he gasped, totally unprepared for such exquisiteness.

"Della…my God…"

Immediately Della's eyes got teary.

"Oh, don't do that to me, Chief! It took forever to get these eyelashes on," she kept smiling.

"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever, ever seen," Perry was literally breathless.

Wearing a strapless, ivory sheath in extremely fine satin with crystal beads sewn into the sweetheart bodice, the material hugged her curves all the way down her legs, which were released only by virtue of a generous slit up to her right thigh that opened any time she moved. A small train started at the back of her waist and fell to the floor and her evening pumps matched the dress right down to the crystal design on the toes.

Ivory satin gloves extended to her elbows. She wore a cocktail ring over them and carried a small crystal beaded bag. Completing the dazzling display was a floor-length evening coat in ivory velvet with full sleeves, lined with the same satin from which her dress was cut. When she came out to model for him she dropped the coat off her shoulders.

With her dark curls swept up on the sides and in the back, and heavily made up eyes, she had an extremely sophisticated look. All of her jewels were gifts from Perry; the pearl and diamond teardrop earrings, the diamond and pearl bracelet and the triple strand of pearls that came just below the hollow of her neck. Perry just stared.

"You know," he said his voice failing him, "It's not fair that you're another man's date tonight."

Della just smiled and stepped into his arms when he held them out for a dance.

They loved jazz, listening to it every night, and got to the clubs as often as their schedule allowed. They managed to see everyone worth seeing who came to L.A. from Ella and Billie to Dinah, Miles and Bird. Tonight they wouldn't get much time together on the dance floor, he knew, and all that he wanted was stay here in their office hold her in his arms and dance to Lady Day.

_I wished on the moon, for something I never knew_

_I wished on the moon, for more than I ever knew_

_A sweeter rose, a softer sky_

_On April days that would not dance away__  
__I wished on the stars to throw me a beam or two_

_I begged of a stars and asked for a dream or two_

_I looked for every loveliness, it all came true_

_I wished on the moon for you_

When Della looked into his eyes, they were so filled with love for him he thought that his heart might break. For a moment he thought about talking to her now but really wanted to wait until they were outside of the office, a silly conceit, perhaps, but he thought it was important. Della was running the back of her fingers on his neck where it met his collar as the song ended.

"Excuse me. I have to find something," Della said as she ran inside in little steps.

Soon Perry heard the album skip a few songs and when Della came running back out she nearly threw herself into his arms, provoking a wide grin.

_There is no greater love than what I feel for you_

_No greater love, no heart so true_

_There is no greater thrill than what you bring to me_

_No sweeter song than what you sing to me_

_You're the sweetest thing I have ever known_

_And to think that you are mine alone_

_There is no greater love in all the world, it's true_

_No greater love than what I feel for you_

_You're the sweetest thing I have ever known_

_And to think that you are mine alone_

_There is no greater love in all the world, it's true_

_No greater love than what I feel for you_

They had virtually stopped moving and were mostly just wrapped in one another's arms. As the song ended the phone rang, Della smiled sadly and they hurried to close up the office.

Had anyone really considered the players, Perry thought regretfully the next morning, they would have been able to anticipate the debacle. The night started out normally enough. Everything was perfect from the room to the orchestra to Della. The foursome, although on tenterhooks on and off throughout the night, managed to have quite a good time.

When Perry and Virginia would dance they would stay close to Della and Gary and the gentlemen would switch girls. After a few cocktails it became quite good sport, tapping each other on the shoulder to change partners. Although, unless he missed his guess, Gary was a little annoyed a couple of times when he tried to get Della back. Perry just smiled his widest, lopsided grin.

With such an enormous ballroom they managed to steer clear of any Faulkner interaction and toward the end of the night Gary was congratulating them on their successful evening. Perry, ever wary, wasn't convinced and urged caution. Della echoed Perry's warnings; she never second-guessed him. But Gary and Virginia waved them off.

After the New Year was properly rung in with champagne and toasts, Perry wanted to spend some of the beautiful evening outside. Grabbing Della's hand they skirted the edge of the ballroom looking outside at all of the terraces until they came to the back terrace which was entirely empty. Leading Della over to the stone rail darkened by the hanging branches of a cluster of Chinese Flame trees.

Flushed from dancing and the excitement of the night, Della looked more like a college co-ed at a freshman dance than a woman just shy of 40. They had held each other at arm's length for so long, waiting for what, neither of them could really say. Perry didn't want to spend another New Year's Eve as just Della's friend and employer, in fact, he didn't want to spend one more minute that way.

Taking her in his arms, Perry brushed her nose a few times with his own, grinning and making her giggle again. His first kiss was small, like a little boy kissing the little girl next door for the first time. Gently his fervor increased until he had parted her lips wide, able to enjoy all of her, flicking slowly until they were both transported to another place.

So much so that the first few flashes went unnoticed. It wasn't until the third snap of the camera that they broke and more flashes followed after that. Trisha Faulkner, laughing, turned and walked away, leaving the photographers behind.

Perry took Della by the arm and slowly walked her inside, smiling as he passed the photographers, "Gentlemen."

No charm would get them out of this, though. Oddly enough, Trisha could have cared less about Gary and his little bride-to-be. But Perry, who had helped Gary get away from her and who had spurned her countless advances in favor of a secretary, and the secretary of whom every person in the room had taken the note tonight because she was so dazzling, those were Trisha Faulkner's targets. Perry would have a chance to get even decades later but the damage was done tonight and that would also take decades to repair.

When Della came in that Monday morning, the first day of the new year, she had already seen the paper. Clearly she had tried to fix and reapply her make up afterwards. When Perry came to her to try and console her she raised a hand and shook her head. There was no smile in her eyes and there wouldn't be one for a very long time.

Each newspaper's headline for the story was crueler than the next, the pictures manipulated to seem even harsher than they were. Della who had looked like an angel last night, suddenly looked garish and guilty with her hand up to block the flashes. Perry came off just fine, after all, he was a man and a powerful one at that. Della…Della came off as the woman who went to the Ball with one man, only to be caught in an unenviable position with his best friend, who happened to be her boss.

Trisha Faulkner moved up her wedding and was torturing some other man by Twelfth Night and a few weeks later Gary and Virginia would be married. Within a couple of years they become the parents of two sons and a daughter. They always asked Perry to be a Godparent but not Della. Perry declined.

Perry and Della never spoke of that night again.


	5. Chapter 5

_**SPICE ALERT...AVERT YOUR EYES!**_

_**Beverly Hills Hotel, Los Angeles, Post-Preliminary Trial, Day Two**_

Adjourning to the cocktail lounge of the Beverly Hills Hotel, where Perry was forced to stay for the sake of decorum, Paul, Jr. and Perry settled a very battered Della protectively between them at a small, quiet banquette table in a dark corner.

Still pale and shaking from the crush of press as they left the courthouse, Della listened quietly as Perry and Paul discussed the case. Over the course of her first two Manhattans, Della leaned increasingly into Perry's shielding arm. Almost imperceptibly Perry had been sliding his arm further down until it was firmly around her waist with a hand on her hip. Cuddling close, Della was soothed by his scent, which surrounded her now, and the low rumble of his voice echoing in his chest as she sat with her head against him.

Under the table Della's hand settled on his knee at one point making Perry start. Quickly she pulled away hoping to correct her apparent mistake but Perry was faster than she. Bringing her hand back to his knee he stroked it under the table then laced his fingers with hers. With that he felt Della Street's little frame _finally_ relax so Perry could relax.

A small combo was playing standards quietly in the opposite corner prompting Jr. to say, "What do you think, mom, should I go over there and show 'em how it's done?"

But it failed to get more than a '"yes, dear" from Della. Jr. and Perry were both worried about Della, as they talked about the case she seemed to be far off. It wasn't like her. Usually she spotted details and contributed ideas that no one else had considered and Perry had found her the integral stimulus that made _his_ mind thrive.

"We'll be fine," Paul nodded into his beer, not convincing anyone.

"Long as I have my good-luck charm," Perry said squeezing Della.

"Oh, Counselor, I think that luck may have finally run out," a resigned Della sighed.

In the office, Della was as stalwart as ever; strong, incisive and more productive than any ten people. Out of the office she was falling apart. Certainly she was allowed but it made him fret and what was worse, she was spending her nights alone. Considering how exhausted she looked, he assumed she was wandering around all night, doing tasks or reading.

They both had trouble sleeping and when visiting each other often ended up bumping into one another in the middle of the night, usually the kitchen, at around 3AM. Della would make them warm milk with a teaspoon of honey and a cognac—which she knew was the only way Perry could stand the warm milk and honey.

One night when he was visiting he heard her get up and pretty soon went searching for her. As it happened he was sleeping just fine that night but he cherished those middle of the night meet-ups and happily gave up a few hours shut eye for them.

When he couldn't find her he started to get worried until he noticed the light on over her back porch. As he approached the back door, Perry had to laugh. There was Della, in a quite sexy, rather form-fitting sea-foam green satin negligee, white marabou boudoir slippers and her ratty gardening gloves, re-potting plants by moonlight. It was one of the most charming sights he had ever seen.

There was a little, what did the kids call them, boom boxes whatever-the Hell that meant, on a table near her. Della was swaying to the opening strains of Billie Holliday's "If You Were Mine," playing very softly.

Perry stole quickly out the door and put an arm around her waist, making her jump about three feet, then giggle. Stepping into a slow Foxtrot, he pulled the glove finger-by-finger off her right hand then took the hand in his. Perry pulled her even closer until Della laid her head against his chest, her other hand stroking the back of his hair.

When Billie started, Della sang along with her.

_If you were mine, I could be a ruler of kings  
And if you were mine, I could do such wonderful things  
I'd say to the stars, "Stop where you are, Light up my lover's way"  
And every star above you would obey….say…  
_

This intimacy was very different than had experienced in a long while. Pulling her hand in, he kissed her fingers, Della then boldly tracing his lower lip with the tip of her index finger.

_If you were mine, I would live for your love alone  
To kneel at your shrine, I would give up all that I own  
Yes, even my heart, Even my life, I'd trade it all for you  
And think I was lucky too  
If you were mine_

Billie just kept singing and every song seemed to be for them. Suddenly having an "it's-now-or-never" moment, Perry tipped her chin up to gaze in her eyes.

_These are nights below  
And that's the moon above  
And those are eyes that say you're mine  
Why can't we combine these'n that'n those_

Della's beautiful heart-shaped mouth, curved into a loving and lovely smile, lured him in. When Perry finally found her lips he couldn't let go.

_These are moments rare_  
_And that's the comfy chair_  
_And those are lips that should be kissed_  
_How can we resist these'n that'n those_

Still holding her, Perry turned off the music. "C'mon, you're cold," Perry whispered with a sly smile, taking off her other glove, again one finger at-a-time.

As they went inside Della realized that she had no robe on, hence the cold remark, she crossed her arm in front of her, blushing.

Perry smirked, "What were you doing out there anyway?"

"You were sleeping pretty soundly, judging by your snoring," Della pursed her lips and looked up at him through her lashes. "So I figured I was on my own tonight—seemed like a good thing to do."

"I do not snore." Perry was holding out her robe for her now and when she was in it wrapped his arms around her.

"Huh!" Della laughed.

"May I make you some of that warm milk of which you are so perplexingly fond; take the chill off? Can't be too careful with children, you know?" Perry smiled quoting one of their favorite movies.

"How about just the cognac?" Della tipped her head and smiled at him.

"Bless you," he answered pouring cognac into a single glass and walking her to the couch.

Della snuggled next to him, drawing her long, slender legs up. They didn't say anything, just passed the glass back and forth until it was empty. With a hand on her thigh, Perry couldn't resist the feel of the silk against her skin.

"Walk me home?"

Perry just laughed. When she stood she pulled him up behind her.

"Thank you."

"That's… what I do," Della smiled, wrapping her arm around Perry's waist.

When they were in front of her bedroom he gave her a lingering kiss.

"We need a clarification session tomorrow morning, Miss Street." Perry felt the exact same excitement he used to feel on Christmas morning when he was a little kid.

Della reached up and held his cheek before disappearing behind her door. Perry leaned against the door jamb long after she had gone and when he heard her covers rustle through the door he walked across the hall to his room knowing that sleep would be an impossibility.

Perry was thinking about that night one month prior, as he sat here with his arm around his beleaguered girl. Thanks to an urgent call from his office at 6:00AM that morning, their clarification session never happened.

Perry who seldom drank during trials needed something and did manage to find a wine on their list that didn't offend his sensibilities. Paul, constantly trying to impress his Godfather, stuck with a beer…a light beer. Every time he took a sip, he made the same unfortunate face causing his Godfather to turn his head so as not to laugh in his face.

As for Della, Paul's dad used to brag about her ability to drink. "That's one gal who can drink with the fella's," he used to like to tease.

And she could; in part because she had a high Irish threshold but predominantly because a lady always knew her limits. Tonight there were no limits, however, and the lady wasn't eating much these days. Although she remained silent, any time a comment made in the press was dissected Della would roll her big eyes and bounce her foot.

By the end of the third Manhattan things were getting dicey. With the next round in the shaker Perry was worried. A few sips in, No. 4 became a figurative Molotov cocktail, prompting an uncharacteristically unrefined moment from Miss Street, just as he feared.

"It's unbelievable," she growled her voice sexier for the late hour and bourbon, both arms and legs now crossed, and that one high heel bouncing. Stroking her hip fairly overtly at this point, Perry was remembering that pale green satin and trying in vain to get her to calm herself.

"So let's recap, Counselor, I'm supposed to have slept with you for what… 30 years. You dump me… run off to San Francisco." She turned and poked him in the lapel, her lips inches from his, "And then…what… I just jumped into Arthur Gordon's bed?"

Perry and Paul exchanged looks.

"Just like that…" Della waved her lovely hand. "Whoosh! New boss…new bed…"

"Would have been a _very _crowded bed by the way," Della snickered as she leaned on the table…and missed.

Perry caught her, pulling her as close as he could.

"Sweetheart…"

"Not that yours would have been all that empty now would it, Chief?" she shot at Perry.

Della's leg was bouncing furiously now and Paul looked back and forth between the two of them, _very_ confused. Could it _possibly_ be, was it even _conceivable_, that Perry Mason and Della Street hadn't actually been… _together _all of these years_? _

"_But…" _When Paul looked him in the eye Perry Mason averted his gaze, reaching for his whisky. Paul took another sip of his drink and they were all quiet for a while, with the exception of Della's occasional _'Hmpf!_'

"Della, I know you're upset, and hey no one has more right than you, but if you don't calm down your leg is going to snap off," Paul, Jr. smirked. Perry looked down again, he knew better than to say anything, which the kid obviously did not.

"Do you know what they're _calling me_?" she turned on her beloved Godson. "The fact is if I had had even _half_ as much sex as the press is saying I've had these last 36 years," she looked dismissively over her right shoulder at Perry. "I would _be_ much calmer!"

"Jeez!" Paul choked so hard on his drink that a waiter ran to his side.

Perry just looked stricken. "Della Katherine!"

"Oh grow up you two," she said casting Perry a sidelong glance.

As the last Manhattan took full effect, Perry realized that decorum be damned, Della could not be alone tonight. "Come along young lady…" Perry steadied her so she could get to her feet.

"You want some help, Chief," Paul smirked…again.

"You know, your father had that same look for 30 years. I didn't like it on him, either." Paul laughed and took Della's other elbow but Perry pushed his hand away.

"Just spot her from… behind. We'll look idiotic walking down the hall all strung together like Christmas tree lights."

Moving deliberately Della was trying hard to maintain her composure and, Perry suspected, consciousness. Actually he was kind of enjoying seeing her like this; more like the sassy Della of old before the corporate world got hold of her—and before he broke her heart.

Once inside his suite she fairly collapsed against the door, hand on her head; Paul went to help but Perry put up his hand. "No, Paul, I'll take it from here."

With that he swept her up in his arms, staggering, and carried her to his room where he laid her gently on the bed. Tonight she was more vulnerable than he had ever seen her. Paul, who had followed them, smiled as the forbidding Perry Mason gently arranged Della in a comfortable position, stroking her forehead and cheek.

Opening her eyes for a moment, Della held his face between her hands. Lost in his beautiful blue eyes she saw only love there for her and so, tipped her chin up for a kiss. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Perry leaned in to feel her sweet lips between his. Watching as she closed her eyes Perry realized the only thing that mattered right now was getting her out of this mess—as quickly as possible. This was his fault; all of it.

As he pulled the other half of the comforter over her Paul gestured to her clothes and asked, "Gee, don't you think you should take some of that stuff off her?"

Not realizing Paul followed them into the bedroom, Perry straightened and, blushing, waved his hand at Paul to follow him outside.

"I've got to tell you, Pops. It never occurred to me that you and 'Mom' weren't… uh…well… you know; all of these years. In fact, judging by what I just saw…well, I'm even more confused."

Perry sighed, "It's a long story, Paul; a long, ludicrous story and I tell you that at this point it is not important. Only one thing is important, and that is getting her out of this as soon as possible. Now, I need you to snap out of it, stop losing leads, understand?

Tomorrow at the office, noon. We'll strategize for the pre-trial and see what we're missing. I can knock down the prosecution because, fact is, she didn't commit the murder and every single witness has a flaw. But we need concrete evidence for her defense and it's out there. We just have to find it. Fast. This is Della's life we have to protect her."

When Perry went back to check on Della she had thrown off the cover, and looked uncomfortable. He wasn't sure what to do. Retreating to the bathroom he showered, letting the hot water beat against him to wash away the detritus of this case and concentrate on those missing pieces, of which there were many.

After changing into his pajamas he sat on the edge of the bed staring at her, hands on his knees. Well…he thought. Lifting Della up under the arms he pulled her forward as she fell onto his shoulder, whimpering softly in that sultry voice as he removed the boxy jacket. Perry had been wondering why Della's style changed so drastically from young and sexy to, frankly, mature and dowdy. If nothing else, after this week, he understood that.

Holding a glass of water to her perfect lips he ordered her to drink. Barely conscious she did as instructed, managing almost the entire glass much to his relief. Un-tucking her blouse he lay her back on the bed to untie its voluminous bow and undo the buttons, hesitating a moment. Finally pealing back the leaves of silk he was rewarded with a Della he recognized. Beneath the dismal wool and gloomy cotton, was an extremely expensive, push up bra in pale pink lace.

Reaching behind her he felt blindly for the skirt zipper and once it was released stood to slide the skirt down, revealing matching panties and a garter belt in the same pale pink. Della snuggled back into the pillows, happily. Drawing her left hand up to the side of her face, she pulled her knees up to the left while her torso twisted to the right. Perry stood gaping at her truly incredible figure.

"How could a 63 year old woman have this body?" he actually asked out loud. With the exception of a few adorable freckles, there wasn't a crease or blemish on her porcelain skin and she still had the best legs in L.A. The only sign of age was a bit of softness here and there; a gentle new curve to her jaw, her belly so sumptuous now that as much of a gentleman as Perry was, he had to fight with himself to resist spreading his hand over it.

Had he been able to take his eyes off Della for even a moment he would have seen her lashes fluttering, the pursed lips she had hidden in the swell of her upper arm. But he was bewitched. After an interlude he swallowed hard and brought the silk pajama top he had taken out of his drawer to the edge of the bed.

Perry slid his hands up her sides under her arms, lifting her off the bed and back onto his shoulder. While Della was nestled in the crook of his neck he could swear he felt her kiss him lightly. Perry stopped short and held her at arms' length but her eyes were still closed and her head lolled, curls bobbing adorably over her forehead. By the time her arms were in and she was lying on the bed again, Della could see beads of perspiration at his temples through her nearly closed lids.

Before he could button her up, Della drew her knee up seductively and grabbed sleepily at the garter belt. Perry sighed at the thought—he hadn't undone one of these in decades. Gamely he unsnapped the clip at the back of her left leg, as he slowly drew his finger to the front of her thigh to unsnap that clip. Rolling the stocking down and sliding it off her slender foot, he swallowed hard before starting the process all over on the right leg.

Enjoying the look of total concentration on his face, it was all Della could do not to laugh. Ah, the eminent Perry Mason who never missed a clue, so completely mesmerized by a sight he had been waiting nearly four decades to see, that he didn't catch on until the second stocking was in his hand. Then Perry's shoulders began to shake with silent laughter.

"Well, done, Counselor," Della said propping herself up on her elbows as the pajama top fell open. Noticing his arousal, she looked down, blushing, and chuckled quietly.

"Well, Miss Street…" Perry was grinning broadly now as he moved back to her side. "How do we feel?"

"Well, Counselor, _we_ are _very looped," _Della said, her voice singing up. _"But _we are enjoying _'ourself'_ immensely."

Perry studied her, leaning back. While a gentleman never took advantage of a lady under the influence of spirits, he felt she had pretty much it clear that she was the seducer. Reaching down and underneath her, he pulled her to him doing what he had been longing to do, simply hold her.

"Perry…" she whispered as he stroked her leg.

"Baby…"

Leaning into her with one arm still holding her back, the other on her belly, he kissed her so tenderly that Della wasn't altogether sure he even had. Soft moans escaped her as he took her full lower lip between his lips then went for her shapely upper lip, teasing her over and again.

As he laid her back down on the bed, Della stroked his cheek looking deeply in his eyes, while her other hand caressed his thigh. Perry moaned low, his forehead pressed against her ear, when she reached her final destination. Lying down alongside her he trapped her thighs under his right leg and started kissing her greedily parting her lips with his tongue while the fingers on his right hand traveled to the lace of her bra, tickling, stroking, circling, until she was writhing.

"Perry…" she moaned. "We need to stop now."

"I'm afraid it's too late for you, Miss Street." Perry's lips and hands were all over her now, across her belly, over her shoulders, down her back as he pulled her toward him, down the backs of her thighs and back to the front of her as he placed her back down on the bed.

Whimpering loudly now, she begged, "Perry no…not now; not like this."

"No, not until _after_ the trial, young lady. I have yet to sleep with a client and I don't intend to break that rule now as much of a technicality as this is going to be, I know. But my client _and_ my secretary have been very, very tense. They need to relax…"

Della's eyes went wide as she tried to sit up but she was too tipsy and it was too late. Perry was already stroking the honey-flesh of her inner thighs causing her to gasp and fall back against him, burying her head in his neck once again. Feeling his beard against her and smelling the scent that could only be Perry Mason, she was home.

Della had always loved his large, strong hands with their slender, graceful fingers and when he slid those fingers behind the lace she buried herself further in him stifling a scream. Not sure how much more _he_ could stand, Perry knew that out of self-preservation this would have to end soon. Della protested when he took his lips from her mouth until they found her breasts and belly. She pressed herself back into the pillows and in one gentle movement Perry buried his right hand inside her. Shrieking his name she grabbed his shoulders.

Moving quickly he found her rhythm as she arched her back to meet him, her head twisting in the pillows, her moans continuous. More sexually fulfilled than he had ever been in his life, Perry lost track of how many times her body tensed under his hands. When at last she was still he gathered her up against him and she began to weep. Perry held her close, stroking her hair and murmuring every sweet thing he could think of in her ear until she drifted off to sleep.

Thinking he would repair to the couch so she could really rest he tried to untangle himself but Della would have none of it.

"Don't even think about it, Counselor. Don't you _ever, ever_ leave me again." Della slid one long leg around his leg.

"No baby, never again," Perry agreed.

Perry pulled the covers over them. Holding her close, lips buried in her curls they fell into the most satisfying sleep of their lives.

Over breakfast, which Perry had delivered to the living room of his suite, he was readying himself to address a very difficult task ahead. Perhaps he should have addressed it at the office but just as he decided to dive in, Della spoke.

"I need to speak to you about something now. I didn't feel I owed anyone an explanation before. I do now and I'm a little confused about the situation myself."

"What situation?"

"Perr,y Arthur was a very good friend to me. He knew I was his assistant….by default. He knew that I was in unrequited love with you…"

"Never unrequited my darling, not for a single day," with great love Perry leaned in and stroked her forehead, capturing a wayward curl. Della, ever prescient, was doing it for him.

"May as well have been; end result was the same, we were apart," Della said, voice breaking.

"And it didn't seem like we were going to find our way…"

"Without his death, maybe we wouldn't have," Della started to cry and Perry cupped her cheek.

"No, I had decided already," Della looked at him and saw for the first time _his_ pain. "During our next weekend I was going to talk to you about coming home to L.A., quitting the bench, most important of all, us."

"I think Arthur knew that if he died while I was working for him, well, he had given Paula controlling interest of the stock. There was no way she would have kept me on; no way I would have stayed. I think it was… kind of a severance…a _big_ severance because he did care a great deal for me but…"

"Did you…" Perry couldn't finish.

"Yes, I did care for him. But Perry, ask yourself, if I was afraid of how it looked for your practice to be with you unmarried, do you think that I would ever be involved with a married man? It's just not something I would do.

Anyway, I was in love with you, whether we did anything about it. Not that we have, yet, actually…" she said blushing and looking off.

Perry realized she was right and that it was his turn. Reaching for her he grabbed her hand and pulled her over and onto his lap. Wrapped in the hotel's soft terry robe and fresh from the shower she was sweet and cuddly. This may not have been good for the case but he realized how good it was for them; for her.

"When this is all over, sweetheart…"

Della rested her head on Perry's shoulder.

"I've said it already."

"What?" Perry was confused.

"We can sort out the rest later but… Middle of the case or not, murder charge or not, professional or not, if you feel it at all right now, I could sure use hearing it. If you don't, of course…"

In his anxiety over her safety and the trial, Perry realized that he had yet to address the feelings she had expressed in her long-ago note, the dance and kiss just a month ago, their long smoldering embers, so much…

"Once upon a time…" Della looked at him quizzically, "What? You have to let me do this my way, Miss Street."

"Sorry, Chief…" she laughed. "But you will get around to it, right?"

"Shut up, Miss Street."

"Right," Della nodded, laughing.

"Once upon a time," Perry cleared his throat and looked down at her giggling. "A beautiful princess all in pink entered a sad kingdom in total disarray."

Della snuggled down into him, arms around his waist and chest watching him and giggling softly. There was a sparkle in her eyes that he hadn't seen in quite some time, a sparkle that was part of him, that embraced him from the past. A sparkle that made him feel young again.

"That's better, much better," he said smiling and holding her to him even tighter. "Where did I leave off?"

"Beautiful princess, sad kingdom…where were you going with this?" Della was laughing hard now.

"I don't know."

"That's what I thought," sighed Della.

"But in the end I was going to tell you how much I love you, how much I've always loved you. How, in fact, I have never been in love with another woman. I wouldn't even know how. Then I was going to tell you that when this is all over and you, my darling, are safe and sound I'm taking you somewhere tropical where we can feed each other coconut, make up for lost time and plan our future together."

"My but that story was going to have a nice end…except for the coconut…" Della's lips were pursed now.

"I forgot you always made me eat the coconut chocolates, didn't you?" Perry smiled at the memory.

"Still it's the perfect end…"

"You almost ruined it," complained Perry with a mock pout.

Della looked at him, serious now, "We both did that my love. We both did that."

Perry stared into her eyes and when he kissed her this time, it was the kiss they had been awaiting for decades. Passionate, romantic, filled with their history, it was the first kiss, the real first kiss, the beginning of the rest of it all, the one kiss that makes a space inside of you and stays there forever.

"You are my one and only love, Mr. Mason."

"And you, Miss Street, are everything to me; an entire life in 5'7-absolutely stunning inches."

"And tomorrow we get down to work again."

Perry gave a stern nod then turned his eyes to her; they were, Della could see, filled with love.

"You know…"

"Della?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Shut up."

"Right, Chief."

Perry stroked her hair, a finger under her chin every now and then to guide her up to him for a kiss. They stayed like that as long as they could; until he could feel that they had both grown stronger and we ready to face whatever lay ahead.

Then they got dressed and headed to the office.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Post Pre-Trial, Los Angeles County Courthouse**_

During and after the preliminary trial, Perry Mason disabused the City of Los Angeles, indeed the state of California, of any erroneous ideas they may have had about Della's guilt, her reputation and him sacrificing his career for his secretary.

The D.A.'s "open and shut" case had turned out to be a classic frame; difficult to get dismissed but extremely satisfying when he did.

Pelted with questions as usual, Perry had Paul move an exhausted Della through the crowd and into the "car" ahead of him, as he could move a lot faster. As was tradition, Perry just smiled, not saying anything. Later, from a conference room at the Beverly Hills Hotel, Perry Mason would make a single statement on Della's behalf: a detailed accounting of the disbursement of Miss Street's entire inheritance from Mr. Gordon, all to children's charities and all in his name.

"Jeez, are you sure, Della?" Paul had laughed. "Dad always said he was generous but the old man can't have paid you _that _well."

"Paul, if I were broke I wouldn't have kept that money. I know Arthur meant well, he was always very good to me but…"

Perry looked sideways at her.

"Not that good, dear," Della pursed her lips and patted his arm.

"Well, your Godson could use a backer…"

"You will have plenty of work as long as you behave," said his Godfather. "We are re-opening the practice. Besides, your Godmother is already a very wealthy woman. Arthur Gordon didn't have to worry. Della is my sole beneficiary—and has been since '52. Whether I'm here or not she will always be well cared for."

Perry turned behind him to see her pretty face. Shocked, Della looked at him, her lower lashes flooded. When she was finally able to speak again she put her hand on his shoulder and stated quietly and _very_ firmly, "The only things I want from you Mr. Mason," she paused as her voice gave way. "The only things I've ever wanted from you, you have to be around to give me. Do you understand, Counselor?"

"I do," Perry Mason whispered, then kissed her hand.

Paul watched the road as the two most important people in his life finally found each other. His dad would never have believed that it had taken them so long. Choking back tears himself he kept his eyes straight and asked, "So…uh... when you think…we'll be up and running?"

"After I take this young lady away for a while to recover and make up for some lost years. Can you handle things until we get back?"

Overcome Paul just nodded. "Where are you going anyway?"

"You're the detective…you figure it out," Mason smirked and they all laughed.

After finishing a late lunch that turned into an early dinner, the three piled back into Paul's Jeep.

"This thing isn't so bad after all," admired Perry, of course he had had champagne, two bourbons, two glasses of cabernet and a cognac as Della pointed out.

Perry smirked and cocked his head, "Young lady… after last week if I were you…"

"A gentleman never reminds a lady of her transgressions," Della flipped her curls in mock petulance.

"Miss Street you are, as ever, absolutely correct. My apologies for being a lout." Teasing, Perry reached for her hand to give it a courtly kiss but when they looked in each other's eyes the giggling stopped. Perry played with her fingers, kissing them gently.

"Eh hem, not in front of the K-I-D," interrupted Paul, leering at Perry. "Where to Mom and Dad, nearest hotel?"

Della laughed and smiled sweetly at him from the back of the Jeep.

"Don't ever call me that, Junior," said Perry in a strained voice that made both Della and Paul laugh.

"Home," said Della her voice deep, her eyes searching Perry's with a carnal warmth. "That is unless you do need to go to the hotel first?"

"No," Perry noticed his voice was already cracking. "Home is fine. I can get the rest of my things tomorrow."

Paul smirked and Perry shot his Godson a dirty look. After they bid him goodbye, with the promise of dinner the following night, Paul watched as Perry escorted Della up the walk, holding her arm, then took her key and let them in the door. With a light beep-beep he drove off, feeling like he needed to call the young lady he had been seeing.

"Well, we did it…again," Perry said loosening his tie and setting his briefcase down.

There was none of his normal playful bravado and she noticed.

"You usually enjoy this moment much more, Counselor; second thoughts about getting me free?"

"You terrified me," Perry perched on the arm of an antique leather club chair suddenly looking so drained it scared Della a bit.

Della walked over to him, finished taking off his tie and threw it over her shoulder. Running her fingers through the salt and pepper hair she kissed his forehead.

"Now I've wanted to do that since it was jet black," Della put her hands on her hips.

"There was more black before your call came I can tell you," Perry shook his head.

"Funny… I was never worried; not for one moment." Della seemed a little bemused about this, herself.

"You weren't, were you?" his smile lit up the room.

"I knew, too."

"What?"

"I knew that it would be you who came. I knew that you'd step down from the bench for me, even if it _had_ been something you loved, which we both know…it was _not_."

"No, Della. It wasn't. And don't ask because I'll never know why I did it," Perry shook his head. "But it would have been me even if I had loved the job. You're too precious to me."

Perry pulled her hand down, turning it over, stroking her delicate fingers before bringing it to his lips to place the softest kiss Della had ever experienced in the center of her palm. With a sharp intake of breath Della positioned herself between his legs and drew his head to her.

"I am sorry for the publicity, baby; I'm sorry for what they did to you. I never could protect you from any of that, could I?"

"How could you? No, the crime was, _our shared crime was_, that we ever pandered to them in the first place."

"It cost us dearly, young lady."

"It did at that," Della held tight to him as she admitted it, a slight sob in her small chest. "So…what next Counselor?"

Perry wrapped his arms around her waist enjoying total contentment, "Miss Street, have you any experience setting up a law office?"

"A little…yes, yes," playing along Della rolled her eyes, nodding. "Take us about two weeks I'd say; maybe less. Have you seen my garage, by the way?"

"Now there is a non-sequitor."

"I'd say that there are about 3 dozen packing boxes in there, recently arrived from San Francisco."

"Forgot to mention that…" Perry bit his lip, stroking her hip.

"Funny. It made me feel secure when they arrived."

They both chuckled. "But it is a good thing we have appointments to look office spaces downtown. Staff resumes await you, too, replete with my notes from their telephone pre-interviews, of course. Oh, guess what?" Perry started to scowl. The "guess what?" game never turned out well.

"Gertie wants to come back."

"Oh, dear God. Why? I thought that she married a pot of money. Well… how is she?" Perry was resigned to their mutual loyalty.

"Divorced, and it pains me to say this, flightier than she was."

"Della that is simply not possible." Perry's face was stone.

Laughing she said, "Golly I've missed that face. I'm afraid that it _is_ possible, my darling. But she'll be fine and it will be nice continuity for our old clients and, yes, I have the announcement ready to go out to the entire Rolodex.

Also, let's see… I've scheduled the entire office to be taken out of storage as soon as we sign a lease and I have started the process for re-instating all of our licenses, insurances and the payroll. Hired the cleaning crew, applied as intern sponsor at UCLA and UCS Law and and arranged to get our records out of storage."

Perry just stared at her.

"What? You were going to need a job, right?" Della shrugged her shoulders and Perry grabbed her and pulled her down on his lap into a bear hug.

"Decided enough is enough, huh? Going to fix the old man."

"Yup!" Della was giggling almost uncontrollably now.

"Pretty efficient, Miss Street."

"I told you long ago that I was a handy girl to have around the office."

"Mmmm..." as Perry started nuzzling her neck he realized he was the happiest he had ever been.

"I didn't mean our jobs."

"Well, I did…" Perry looked away, his champagne glass hiding his mischievous smile.

Della's eyes narrowed, the creases around them gathering with her smile. "I need a lot more than Crepes Suzette these days, Counselor."

Perry put his lips against her ear, kissing her softly, "You will never know how much I missed you when we were apart. There isn't even a word to describe it."

Della tipped her chin up to kiss her boss. "Mm hmm?" she hummed. "In case I haven't mentioned it, I love this beard. I also happen to love you still… _more_.

"I love you, too. I always have."

"So you say," she chided, winking at him and pushing herself off his lap against his chest. "Well… why don't you meet me in my room… say in 45 minutes?"

"Defense has to present his case, huh? Forty-five minutes?" Perry checked the time on his beautiful pocket watch. "I think I can arrange that."

Della reached down to hold the hand holding the watch.

"This was extravagant young lady, far too extravagant," he held her to him with his other arm.

"You spoiled me over the years. And it wasn't about the money it was about finding…"

"The perfect gift," he smiled; they were finishing each other's sentences as if no time had passed at all. "Seneca was a wise man."

Della put her forehead against his then let her lips travel down to his, kissing him long and slow. When she finished her cheeks were glowing pink, her voice taxed and skipping syllables.

"You can freshen up in 'your' room. By the way, it did not escape my notice that you have been leaving more and more of your things in there with each visit."

"It did not escape _my_ notice that you have turned it into a very handsome and masculine room. I was hoping that it was no accident… and that it was _for_ me."

"Oh, I'll never tell, Counselor." Della Street swung her blazer over her shoulder and started down the hall to her room, hips swaying rhythmically under the tight fabric of her skirt, legs impossibly sexy in her high heels.

"But you can start leaving your things in _our bedroom_. We'll turn that into a study for you."

"_Our _bedroom." Perry smiled broadly.

"Oh there's champagne chilling. Why don't you bring it along," she called over her shoulder.

"What if you had been held over for trial? What if we hadn't won?" Perry was almost embarrassed that she still had such confidence in him.

Della looked back again, rolling her eyes and just before she disappeared behind her bedroom door mouthed the words, "Yeah. Right."

In 45 minutes to the second Perry knocked on her door, showered and spruced up in his robe, accompanied by the champagne bucket and two glasses.

"Come in, Counselor…" her voice was husky.

When he walked in she was standing with her hand on the hearth, the fire's golden glow dancing across her lithe figure in a very expensive, shimmering column of silvery pale blue satin. Simply cut with elegant lines, the negligee had a deep décolletage and was a slit well up her right thigh. Freed from the shackles of the corporate world and public opinion, Perry was stunned by the change. Both her hair and make-up were fresher, younger, so like her old self that she could have been 35 again.

All of the love he had been holding in for almost four decades welled up, engulfing him.

"Della, you're… exquisite, my love."

"Thank you, sir," Della offered him her famous smile, demure yet sexually potent.

Perry walked towards her, setting the champagne bucket on a small table between two white boudoir chairs. After filling their glasses he offered her a flute. "Now where does a girl find something like that in this day and age?"

"Counselor, if you knew how long I've had this in my drawer, wrapped in the same tissue paper, tied with the same satin ribbon just waiting for you, well, you would be astounded. I'm frankly surprised it still fits," she chuckled smoothing a hand over her midriff.

Perry put his hand over hers on her belly.

"Della, I've been in love with you since your first day we met and I have never, not for a single day, been in love with another woman."

"Well, at this point, I don't think my case needs pleading, does it?" pursing her lips then opening her smile wide.

"Della, no one's love has been more…" but he choked back the rest of his sentence.

Della moved in to kiss him gently and touch their glasses. "Thank you, Perry, for rescuing me. That armor of yours hasn't dulled one bit." Della, smiling, had her chin turned up to him.

"No, thank you, young lady, for rescuing _me_," he said, encircling her soft waist with his free hand, pulling her close.

Sipping champagne they spent the next several minutes staring deeply into each other's eyes, getting reacquainted, reminiscing, planning the future, all without ever saying a word. Della ran a hand up his great arm, letting her hand rest on his chest, over his heart. Setting his glass down, Perry stroked her fingers lightly, remembering how her hands used to fascinate him when they worked together. Their impossible loss suddenly overwhelmed him and he gazed into the fire.

"Della, I'm so sorry," he finally spoke so quietly she could barely hear him. "I'm sorry for not declaring my love for you decades ago and I'm sorry for leaving you. I'm just… sorry…" Perry slumped down on the nearby chair.

Putting her glass down, Della held him to her like a small child. Perry buried his head in her belly as she whispered in his ear, "My love, _my one and only love_. Are you really going to take all of the credit for this mess?"

Della pulled away for a moment to look in his face. "Because that's not like you; you've never been one to take credit."

"But Della…" he protested.

"No, dear, I could have made _my_ feelings clear sooner public be damned. I'm the one who ran away the first time, Perry; not you. Remember that. And then to tell you how I felt when you were already out the door? In a note? Oh, Perry, it's a wonder you ever spoke to me again." Della stated in that assured, matter-of-fact way he so admired.

That was his girl, clear-eyed, sensible and never one to blame. Searching his robe pocket he found her card from eight years ago. Handing it to her he said, "Many days darling girl, _this_ is the only thing that kept me going. Don't ever, ever apologize for this. Please."

Perry stood, wrapping himself around her. They stayed that way for a long while, trying to recapture those lost 37 years.

"You know, Perry," Della started slowly. "I know that we didn't have all that we could have had. But I always knew that I was the one you loved," Della was gripping one of his lapels, emphatic.

The only time I've been unhappy—_truly unhappy_—is when we were apart," she finished, cuddling against his chest as he stroked her back.

"The last night in the office, when you left…Della, I thought I was going to die…"

"You _were_ there. After you left the first time I thought I felt you come back… I could always _feel_ you when you were near me. You were in the door of the law library."

Perry started laughing, "Della my darling, I'm sorry to include you in this but I really have no choice. We are a couple of idiots."

"That we are Counselor," she laughed loud and long, nodding her head. "That we are."

Della flipped on the stereo and Chet Baker joined them. Perry pulled her close, tucking her curls under his chin, and began to dance. But this was unlike any dance they had ever danced.

_Time after time  
I tell myself that I'm  
So lucky to be loving you_

_So lucky to be_  
_The one you run to see_  
_In the evening, when the day is through_

_I only know what I know_  
_The passing years will show_  
_You've kept my love so young, so new_

_And time after time_  
_You'll hear me say that I'm_  
_So lucky to be loving you_

"Miss Street, may I have the pleasure of your company for the rest of our lives?"

"Marriage?"

"Any way that pleases you; as long as you're mine."

"I never needed to be married, Perry. I suppose it might have been nice when we were younger but it's not necessary now. You've got me whether we have a certificate or not, I'm afraid."

"That's all I care about."

"Unless I get pregnant; then of course…" Perry burst out laughing and dipped her as she giggled.

"Incidentally, Miss Street; was that tape supposed to break my heart every… damn… time… I listened to it?" Mr. Mason gave her a knowing glance.

Della lifted her chin, laughing.

"Why didn't we make love that New Year's Eve? How did I let you slip away—how did we let each other slip away that night?"

"When they took those photos…it was 1961 Perry, not 1985. It was so different then. Well look at the press we went through with this, now, _in our 60s_! They reprinted those damn pictures! And all of the secretaries we encountered in cases over the years; always viewed as opportunistic and cheap if they were involved with their bosses.

If we married… if we married I would have been just another secretary who 'snagged' her wealthy boss and you would have had to leave me at home, which I could never have stood. And how would it have looked to clients if we had married and I had stayed working for you? I'm sure there was an answer but…we would have had to be different people."

"Propriety—we were slaves to it."

Perry took her face between his hands, running a thumb back and forth across her lower lip, running his left hand through her hair and down her neck. As they locked eyes Della could feel the warmth of his breath drawing closer. Grabbing her upper arms, Perry pulled Della closer, making her moan softly.

Sliding his lips across hers he concentrated on the lower lip that had driven him crazy for decades. Gently he parted her lips with his tongue, her head sinking back for him. They opened to one another, Della drawing her tongue over Perry's lips, the top, then the bottom then the top again.

Perry let his fingertips run over the silk covering her breasts now so very visible through her nightgown. Delicately the middle finger on each of Perry's hands slipped her nightgown straps off her shoulders and down her arms, but Della shimmied them back up. Perry looked at her askance and tried again but this time she put her sweet hands gently on his to stop him and she shook her head.

"Why don't you take me to bed now, Counselor? I'll get the lights."

"Della, what is it?"

"Just modest…"

"Modest? Who was that in the pink lingerie last week?"

"Some drunk murder suspect… probably scared, definitely lonely, unable to resist the man she had loved her entire adult life any longer." Della laughed nervously.

Perry pulled her close, kissing her deeply, sliding his fingers under the straps again.

"I'm not 30 anymore, Perry. You missed out my friend," more nervous laughter.

"We will have _none_ of that, Miss Street. And I've got _a lot_ more to worry about than you. I took inventory last week and young lady you are a miracle of preservation." Della started to giggle.

"That's my girl."

"I wouldn't change a thing about you, my love" Della reached out and stroked his cheek.

"Exactly, now stop wasting my time," Perry growled in her neck, making her giggle more.

As Perry slipped the straps down her arms Della, cheeks flushing, leaned into him. With the beautiful gown pooled at her waist she looked even more magnificent exposed than she had looked in her tight sweaters in the 50s and 60s.

"Beautiful girl, my beautiful girl," whispered Perry.

Perry started torturing her a bit with his fingers and mouth. Soon Della's breathing was labored as she squirmed, grasping at him.

Caressing her hips with his large hands he pushed the gown and it dripped down her, shimmering in the candlelight like a waterfall.

Holding her hand as she stepped from the little lagoon of silk, Perry bent over to retrieve the gown, laying it carefully over a chair.

When he had picked her up the week before, having grown so heavy and so stiff with a shattered knee, he thought that he was quite possibly taking both of their lives in his hands. Tonight he was young again and when he swept her up into his arms she felt as light as air. Perry spun her around making her laugh with delight.

"To the bed, Counselor!" Della directed her boss. "Before you either have a heart attack or drop me on my head…or both simultaneously!"

"Simultaneously…hmmm…that certainly gives me an idea!" he growled again, making her chuckle.

Perry Mason put Della Street gently in their bed, following her under the covers. Finally after nearly four decades, he was in bed with the most precious thing in his life; the most beautiful woman—inside and out—he had ever seen.

Cradling her in his arms, he smiled as he ran the back of his finger across her brow, down the side of her cheek and down to the hollow of her neck where he placed a single kiss.

Perry moved down kissing her lightly in her cleavage, where he was lulled by her even breathing.

After a few minutes… they both woke up.

Della started laughing and Perry joined in. "Oh, Perry! I'm so sorry! I'm exhausted. You know I beat a murder rap today?"

As if to challenge her Perry said, "_You're_ tired? My client was charged with murder-I got her off…"

Della laughed uproariously now. "You did not! You fell asleep on her."

"I object. She fell asleep _under_ me," Perry tousled her curls, tipping her chin up and kissing her deeply between chuckles.

"Perry, dear…"Della met his gaze, their moist, sleepy eyes meeting. "I plan on loving you forever. We have a lifetime now…"

"I guess after 37 years…what's one more day?" They were both giggling now.

"Good-night my love," she whispered sleepily in his ear. "Hey!"

"What?" yawned, Perry.

"Well…" she paused, her voice held a tiny sob. Taking his face in her hands she whispered, "I'll see you in the morning…"

Perry looked at his beautiful girl, understanding instantly, and with sadness, the significance that held for her, for both of them.

"See you in the morning baby," he cooed. Della's soft, throaty chuckle rumbling against him was the last thing he heard as he fell asleep.

Della woke with a start.

From the angle at which the moonlight was streaming in high, through the window it had to be the middle of the night. They must have turned—apparently perfectly in sync—and Perry was now wrapped around her from behind. In fact, he had a bit of a death grip on her, which would have made her giggle had she been able to get enough breath to do it. Perry's massive arms, so strong they could still lift her up, crossed in front of her with one hand on her belly, the other gently under a breast.

Wide awake now she lay there stroking Perry's arms, thinking about the events of this week. They were finally together and Della knew nothing would ever part them again. But she had realized something earth shattering over these last few days that, with the exception of the past eight years, although their relationship was now acknowledged and had been _physically enhanced_, it wasn't that much different than it had been throughout their life. They had always felt their love because it had always been right there.

An immeasurable peace accompanied this revelation.

Trying to slide out of his adoring grip without waking him was quite a challenge.

"No."

"Dear, you really _are_ going to have to excuse me for a moment," Della laughed.

Perry "harrumphed" but kissed her shoulder and freed her.

Before leaving the bathroom she fixed her hair, reapplied a mist of cologne and brightened her cheeks. Laughing to herself she noticed he had done such a thorough job kissing her that her slightly swollen and quite pink lips didn't need lipstick. Walking around naked in front of him, at 63 still didn't thrill her so she grabbed her short, pale yellow silk robe that had been hanging on the back of the door.

When she came back to bed he was leaning his head on his fist, the wide lapis eyes staring out the window just awaiting her return.

"Della!" Perry was exasperated.

"Oh alright," she laughed resigned. Dropping the shoulders so the robe barely covered her breasts, she dipped her head behind an alabaster shoulder coquettishly, before casting it off behind her.

Perry laughed happily, pulling her back into bed and onto him.

"Have a good nap?"

"Mm hmm," she purred. "And you?"

"Much needed I'm afraid."

Della's thigh brushed Perry not too far from his thigh. "Mm hmm? Wide awake now."

"Indeed, I am, young lady. Indeed, I am."

"Tell me something…" Della pursed her lips and cocked her head towards him.

"Why is it I am not allowed to wear clothes…"

Perry cut her off with a growl. "Miss Street, I may have to institute _that_ as a rule. No clothes for you in the bedroom."

Perry began kissing her neck but she shoved him playfully back into the pillows.

"Back to my point…how come I'm the only one without any clothes on?"

Laughing Perry brought her into him with a hand on the small of her back. Della could feel him against her again and it made her wild. Staring into his eyes she ran her hands down along the silk that lined his hips and back up again. Perry's head fell forward into her, straining so hard against the material now he clasped Della's shoulders and moaned loudly when she slid his pajama bottoms off him.

When Della's wandering hands found him she gasped, then giggled. "Well, I might have suspected as much."

"So to speak."

"So to speak…"

Greedily Della explored him with her soft hands and even softer mouth, fulfilling a decades-long desire. Those delicate hands moved so liberally and so swiftly that it was like being bound in spun sugar there was so much of her sweetness everywhere. For almost 40 years _just the thought_ of Della touching him like this had provoked pleasure but now he thought he might go insane.

Their frayed, tormented breathing filled the room until he reached down and gently lifted her up towards him.

"Baby, you're going to have to take it easy on me," he panted afraid he wouldn't last much longer.

"Well, you had the chance to explore me last week," she looked at him from his stomach where she had laid her head on her crossed arms, her eyes glittering, hungry.

"It's my turn now, Counselor. I never was the type of girl to just…lay back. You better than anyone know that."

As Della started to move up to meet him, Perry lifted her under the arms then turning her on her back and nestling her in the pillows. Before continuing something occurred to him, it couldn't be true but, just in case he looked quizzically at her, apprehensive. As ever, she knew exactly what he was wondering. Rolling her eyes she shook her head, "No."

Perry laughed at his own ego.

Staring into Della's beautiful eyes, still huge and now sweeter for the laugh lines around them, his heart melted at the complete trust and love they offered. Curling his left arm beneath her body and taking her other hand in his he laid against her gently and kissed her deeply.

"Let me know," he whispered somewhat self-consciously, "If I'm hurting you."

"Now, now, Counselor," she looked him in the eye exactly as he had done earlier. "We will have none of that. I love the way you feel, especially against me and I've waited a long, long time for this."

Perry buried his head in her neck, which he decided was his new favorite place. With that she clutched his back pulling him onto her, adoring the feel of him, the heft of him. Della didn't mind the weight he had acquired in the last eight years. In fact, except for the first few years they knew one another, Perry had always been at the mercy of his weight.

Pressing himself to her she cried out.

Della started to moan but Perry put a finger over her mouth and shook his head. Moving his lips inch-by-inch down and over her body, it was as if he was trying to memorize every bit of skin. By the time he finally reached her lower belly—after a torturous time circling each breast from the base to the tip with his skillful tongue—she thought she might lose her mind.

Her pleasure was involuntarily audible but he put his finger over her lips again and smiled at her.

"Shhhh…."

Throwing the covers off them, Perry watched her gorgeous legs as he parted them with his knee. Hovering over her, he stroked her hip with one hand as he saw all of their years together reflected in her dark eyes. There she was on the first day in her pink suit, at Christmas a few years later in the red satin gown he loved, holding the baby left on their doorstep, at the lake, holding an enormous fish she had just caught, that New Year's night and thousands of nights of dinners and dancing.

"My, God, I love you," Perry said bringing their bodies together, finally. Della slid an arm around his neck and a brought his face to hers with a hand on his cheek. Moving slowly back and forth, their eyes never lost contact.

Stopping to prolong their pleasure, Perry kissed the tears from her cheeks.

"You know, if it makes you feel better, not in many, _many_ years," she whispered in his ear.

It took Perry a moment but then he realized what she meant.

"I'm sorry to say my darling, that it does make me feel better," Perry sighed deeply. "Me, either, by the way."

"Come now…"

But Perry nuzzled her neck again and whispered in a raspy voice, "Not in a very long time, Della. Frankly, not that much in general; certainly not what was reported in the media."

Della stroked his brow, pensive. "I always thought…"

"You can only call a woman by the wrong name so many times before she doesn't want to see you again," Perry said tipping his head the way Della usually did.

"Oh my love…

"I did, however, spend a great deal of time…uh…in the shower, thinking of a certain someone." Perry laughed his cheeks red and moving slightly faster now.

Smiling and equally embarrassed, Della was unable to look at him.

"Mm hmm …" she moaned, her voice falling to the floor it was so low. "Bathtub."

The idea of Della naked in the bathtub back then, thinking about him was almost too much to bear.

In the silence and moonlight, they were alone, oblivious to anything else around them but one another. Their sounds were those of complete intimacy. Della brought one of her long, slender legs up and around him as Perry held her even tighter. When Della's body arched, they both went rigid, his name sounding sonorous in her deep voice just before he silenced her again covering her lips with his own.

They went on for what seemed like an hour this way, the pleasure coming in continual waves. When they were finally finished, neither of them moved.

"I love you, Mr. Mason."

Whispering in her ear he asked one more time, "I love you so very much. Are you sure you don't want to be Mrs. Mason?"

Trying to catch her breath now she managed to ask back, "Haven't I been…all along?"

Perry smiled, "Huh…yes, my darling…yes, you certainly have."


End file.
